“Oh, Mars’r Waltah, don’t force de pore niggah. Mars’r Waltah—dar’s death ober dar—fo’ God, dar am. Obeah, Mars’r Waltah—dar’s hisn’s place. I’se done b’en ober dar onc’t, mars’r, only onc’t. But dis chile nebber go ag’in. Fur de place am ha’nted, mars’r, by de mos’ ter’ble gosses, an’ ef dis chile done fo’ced ter go, he nebber come back a niggah, sure. Now, don’t, mars’rs—kind an’ berry good mars’rs!”
“Ghosts?” exclaimed several of the most superstitious. Cato saw his chance and doubled the dose. Sinking his voice to a shrill whisper he drew near the log, and glancing fearfully over at the island, muttered:
“Dis am de Forest ob de Dead Man—de man dat runs in de woods ob nights. Mars’rs, I’se done see’d him—I’se done heerd his’n voice. An’ he libs ober yender, an’ he don’ like fur no one ter pester him. He berry mad, mars’rs, w’en he am pestered, an’ he don’ want no one ter set dare foot on de island. He hates de brack man an’ he done swear he’d kill um. Oh, for de lub ob ebery t’ing, mars’rs, don’ send de pore niggah ober dare.”
Several looked at Sol, half-believing the negro’s assertions. That nettled the old veteran, and he thundered out:
“Air ye sech durned fools ter b’lieve his trash? I tell ye thar’s game over thar—thar’s whar we’ll find suthin’. Didn’t ye hear the voice, yesterday evening? Ef yer b’lieve in sperrits, what more can ye want? It told us ter come hyar, and we air goin’ over to that island with the nigger, ef it teks a leg from each man. Now, you mule, get in the canoe afore I make you!”
The negro trembled like an aspen and rolled out some unintelligible phrases, but Sol seized him and thrust him into the dug-out, then sprung in after him. There was room for four more, and these places he gave to Eben, Walter, Dunbar, and a tough, bold, squarely-built young fellow, Hettie’s brother—Jack Dunbar.
Ordering them to place their weapons in readiness he shoved off with the paddle.
“Now, yer fellows,” addressing the men on shore, “ef we’re fired on, jest blaze away at the inimy’s smoke, and watch out for a chance at knockin’ some one over. I b’lieve thar’s robbers over thar. Now keep well peeled!”
He submerged the paddle and began to force his way through the weeds, the water-lilies, and the debris of dismantled, water-soaked limbs and boughs, old and ugly snags, and rotten slime. It was a difficult job. There was a channel, or rather path, but it was known and noticeable only to the robbers and Cato. The latter was glad Sol did not enter it, for he desired to be as long as was possible in making the passage. But chattering with fear, and expecting every second to feel the pang of a robber bullet in his vitals, he sat in the stern, alternately groaning and blaspheming, while Sol paddled on, the others kept in readiness for an attack, and the men on shore were covering the island with their shining gun-barrels.
At last, after tedious and exasperating labor, they left the thick impediments behind, and bowled away in comparatively open water, half-way across. Still no shot from the silent willows, still no defiance shouted, still all was quiet.